Page 37 of The Game

My keys jingle as I wave at him, then beat a hasty path to the elevator. Rob’s a good guy, but it’s not as easy to be around him as Cole. Especially not with his apparent interest in starting something. But the thing with Cole has parameters. Rules to follow. Expectations. That makes it way easier to navigate our friendship. Except, now that I know he’s hiding things from me, I’m wondering if I can trust him.

Chapter 14

Baby Peach

Cole

I’m weaving around theorange cones I set up for my drills with Hail, eyes straying to the clock once again to see he’s over ten minutes late now. Asshole. Why I got stuck trying to fix his issues is beyond me. And the fact that Beau is dangling my spot is fucking maddening.

The stomp of skates on the sidelines tells me he finally decided to grace me with his presence. He hops down onto the ice and takes off, whizzing around the outside of the rink without even a hello.

I pull off a glove to shove two fingers in my mouth, letting out a whistle shrill enough to stop traffic. His pace slows, and he gives me an irritated look, but doesn’t stop his laps.

“Hey, asshole!” My shout echoes across the ice, cutting through the sound of his blades slicing along the smooth surface.

“What?” He calls back.

“I didn’t come here to waste my time. I’ve got some drills planned, and I’m not putting in extra time because you couldn’t be bothered to show up when I asked you to.”

“Didn’t ask you to stay longer. You can leave now if you want. I don’t give a shit,” he says, but at least he’s skating toward me now. “This whole thing is stupid. Why the hell do I need extra work on the ice? I’m one of the best on the team, and I’m only a freshman. I’m going to be out of here with a signed contract before I hit my junior year.”

“Not if you keep up that shit attitude. You might think you’re god’s gift to hockey, but you’re a smaller fish here than you were in high school or juniors. And you’ll be a freaking minnow when you get to the NHL, rookie. Better to get the sense smacked into you now rather than when you’re playing against the greats.”

“I’m going to be one of the greats. They’ll be looking up to me.”

Fuck. I am not equipped to deal with this. I knew he was a cocky motherfucker, but this is way beyond anything. “Excellent. Well, in the meantime, we’re stuck together. Both of our spots are relying on me helping you with your teamwork skills. So, let’s just get to it. We’ll do some drills. Move on with our lives.” Hopefully not have to deal with each other much beyond these weekly sessions.

“Why they paired me with you, of all people. In your senior year, kicked off your last team. No contract yet. It’s bullshit.”

If this is what it’s like to have a kid, let that never be my fate. I shut my eyes, taking a deep inhale to stop myself from knocking some sense into his head.

“Anyway. We’re going to do some passing drills. I’ve set up cones. That’s your line.” I point to the left side of the rink. “Circle a cone, then pass, circle pass, circle pass, and then you set me up to shoot at the goal.”

“What? I don’t even get to shoot on the net?” His stick clatters to the ice when he hurls it at the ground like the child he is.

“Nope. That’s your problem. You always take the shot. You never set anyone up for goals or look at the situation to see what the best option is. If one of your teammates is open or has a better shot, you don’t care. You’re only looking for the glory of getting the goal.”

“I’m just better than them. Why would I risk losing a goal they’re not good enough to get it in?”

“And that’s why you’re here with me. Scoring is not your only job. Yes, it’s important, but this game is about working together and meshing as a team. The better a line works together, the better off the team performs. That’s how you win the cup. Not by constantly feeding your own ego.” Oh, fuck. The words are echoing in my skull in a taunting rhythm. Maybe I understand why Beau gave me this assignment. At least Hail is too self-absorbed to realize how hypocritical they sound coming from me.

“Whatever,” he says, skating off to the end of my cones.

Not sure how I’m going to do this all year. Maybe I can get him sorted out by the end of the semester.

We skate in silence, weaving through the cones, the only sounds the clash of the puck on our sticks, and our blades on the ice. We’ve got a solid rhythm going, passing the puck back and forth, and I’m feeling hopeful. I’ll have to come up with a bunch more drills, but I can find those on YouTube. See if Beau has any recommendations. Maybe this will work.

I’m crouched down to the right of the net, waiting for the pass when he scoops it, slamming it dead center with a wicked slap shot. He throws his arm up, fist pumping the air.

“That’s how it’s done!”

I shake my head. Maybe not. “That’s not how it’s done, rookie. You’re missing the point of the exercise. You get plenty of time to take shots on net. This is about passing. Not taking the shot.”

He scoffs. “You can’t deny I’ve got the best slap shot on the team.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Grant has a pretty good one too, plus he knows how to work with his teammates. He’s got the edge.”

I retrieve the puck lining back up behind the cones. “Where are you from, kid?”

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